A Mortal Bane (19 page)

“Even if he had a meeting there, he would not be likely to tell a whore.”

Bell was sorry as soon as the words were out. He was angry at himself because his desire for Magdalene would not be stilled, but that was no reason to insult her when she had not invited insult. However, Magdalene did not flinch. Her brows drew together very slightly, but then she smiled.

“You might be surprised what men tell whores, especially those they trust—but you are right insofar as Messer Baldassare had no reason to trust me. And, if you remember, he did not even tell Buchuinte, a longtime friend, whom he was to meet or what he was carrying. No, he did tell Buchuinte he was going to the king.”

Bell nodded. “The pope must have sent a letter stating his decision about whether Stephen was rightfully king.”

“That was what Somer said.”

“Somer?”

“Somer de Loo. He is a captain under William of Ypres. He came unexpectedly, which was a piece of luck because Master Buchuinte was too upset after hearing of Baldassare’s death to wish to go to Ella. And you know Ella.” Magdalene grimaced and Bell could not help laughing.

All he said, however, was, “The bishop thought news of that decision might have been in Baldassare’s pouch, but I cannot believe it was worth killing over. There can be little doubt that the pope decided in Stephen’s favor. After all, the papal legate approved when Stephen first claimed the throne.”

“Mayhap the bishop is thinking like a churchman, not a soldier? Somer just wondered whether those who killed Baldassare were the king’s so-called friends or his enemies.”

“If he is Ypres’s man, ‘so-called friends’ means Waleran, but I think like a soldier, too, and I cannot see any reason why Waleran should wish to keep the pope’s decision secret. And if, for some unthinkable reason the pope decided against Stephen, Waleran could not know that. I cannot believe anyone came from Rome more swiftly than Baldassare.”

Since Magdalene knew that the pope’s decision was favorable, she saw no point in continuing the conversation along those lines. “There is a thing that puzzles me,” she said. “Beaumeis told Baldassare that this was the Bishop of Winchester’s inn and that was what Baldassare asked for when he rang my bell. Yet when I told him my servant would take him to the bishop’s house, he said he had no business with the bishop.”

Magdalene now knew that was a lie. He had had the bull to deliver to Winchester, unless…she bit her lips to stop herself from asking Bell why Baldassare would say that. Was it possible that he was going to deliver the bull to someone else? To hide? To destroy? That made no sense…. Yes, it did. There was one way it did make sense. Possibly he was going to deliver the bull to King Stephen so that the king himself could give it to Henry of Winchester to soothe his anger over being passed over for Archbishop of Canterbury. And if Stephen knew that Baldassare was coming with a legatine commission for Winchester, Waleran would know also.

“But I think he did have business with the bishop,” Bell said, startling her, because her mind had wandered. Magdalene could have kissed him; she knew her surprised expression made her look more innocent. “Did you not know that the king had asked the pope to make Winchester legate?”

“Yes, I did,” Magdalene said. “William told me. He knew I was interested because I had told him how disappointed I was when Theobald of Bec was made archbishop instead of Winchester.”

Bell looked astonished. “Why should you care who was archbishop?”

“Do not be a fool. If Winchester became archbishop, who would dare speak against whores who were his tenants? Contrariwise, if we got a man like Brother Paulinus for archbishop, would he not be likely to order the bishops and deans to ‘cleanse their houses of corruption’? Even the Bishop of Winchester could not ignore an order from the archbishop.”

“I see.” Bell nodded. “It would make a difference to you.”

“Yes, it was on my mind, and when William stopped in a few days after Christmas last year, I mentioned it to him. He was strange. When I said I wished Winchester had been elected archbishop, he shouted at me because he did not know what he wanted. I cannot remember ever seeing William so undecided. He said that if Henry of Winchester were archbishop, there would be two kings and the Church would have the more powerful ruler.”

Bell whistled between his teeth over that statement. “I had heard that was the argument Waleran used to convince Stephen not to urge the election of his brother. I had also heard he did not need to argue very hard, that Stephen had realized that without help. So, Ypres agreed with Waleran about keeping Winchester out of the archbishopric?”

“I would not say he ever agreed completely, but later he came to believe that rejecting Winchester was a mistake. He was greatly disturbed at how bitter Winchester was over what he saw as his brother’s treachery and ingratitude.”

Bell shrugged. “That was how it looked to me.”

“But can it do any good to have the king and his brother at odds? I think William tried to blame Waleran—he did not actually admit that, of course—but this time Winchester would accept no excuses for Stephen’s action. In fact, William remarked that the excuse seemed to make Winchester more bitter, as if it were proof that the king preferred Waleran to himself. I think William was actually worried about an open break between them, and it may have been he who suggested the king ask for the appointment as legate as compensation.”

“Interesting, but nothing to do with us. To get back to Baldassare. The bishop thought the bull appointing him legate might also have been in the pouch.”

“You must be right!” Magdalene exclaimed, barely preventing herself from shouting in her relief. Now, at last, she could ask questions and speculate about why anyone would want to seize the bull she knew was in the pouch. “But why and to whom could that be important enough to cost a man’s life?”

Bell shook his head. “I have never understood that from the beginning,” he replied. “As to ‘to whom,’ there are only two I can think of: Waleran and Theobald of Bec.”

“The archbishop?” Magdalene asked faintly. “But he is not even here in England.”

Bell laughed shortly. “Winchester did not like the idea any better than you. He cut me off when I suggested it, but I was not suggesting that even if he were in England, Theobald would have used the knife himself.” He shrugged. “I know nothing of the man; he might be a saint and not care, but you know having a legate above him before he can establish his authority over his suffragan bishops must undermine that authority. And, after all, the archbishop does not even have to be directly involved. When he learned of the bull, could he not have lamented to those in his Household that it should be issued—not with any intent to arouse violence or disobedience against the pope’s will, but just as an expression of his disappointment?”

“And someone took him literally and decided to intercept and destroy it?” It was Magdalene’s turn to shrug. “But any in the Household who could have heard him are
with
him in Rome. You yourself said you did not believe anyone else could have outstripped Baldassare in traveling from Rome to London.”

“Have you forgotten that there was someone from the archbishop’s Household who traveled
with
Baldassare?”

“Beaumeis?” Magdalene smiled. “Richard de Beaumeis is far too selfish and self-indulgent to kill anyone for a cause not his own. I could imagine him stealing the bull if he thought it would bring the archbishop’s favor, but I am not sure he has the courage to engage in violence. Besides, did I not tell you that Buchuinte says Beaumeis left his house long before Baldassare did, before dinnertime, to ride to Canterbury on some errand for the archbishop?”

“Could Beaumeis have sent a message to someone before he left the city?”

“You mean hired someone to kill Baldassare for him?” Magdalene frowned. “He might be stupid enough to have done that, but I do not think he would have money enough.”

“The archbishop—” He saw her expression and smiled. “It does not matter. A stranger could not have done it. Remember that the killer would have had to be within the gates of the priory or this house before those gates were locked.”

“I had almost forgot that.” Magdalene sighed.

Bell frowned. “Your wall and gate look formidable. How many would know the gate is not locked until dark?”

“I am not sure.” Magdalene looked down thoughtfully. “Someone goes to open the gate whenever the bell is rung, so anyone might assume the gate was locked or barred, but some would surely notice there was no sound of a lock being opened or bars withdrawn. I imagine all my clients know.” She shrugged and sighed. “I can see you
will
need a list of their names. I have written it out for you, but for most of them, it is ridiculous. It could not matter a pin to them if the bishop was made legate. And it does not change the fact that neither of the two you mentioned who
could
profit by preventing the bull from being delivered are close enough. Those who elected Theobald are in Canterbury, and Waleran de Meulan is with the king at Nottingham.”

“Hugh le Poer, Waleran’s youngest brother, is no farther away than the Tower of Montfichet. He came from Bedford soon after Easter.”

“Do you know why?”

Bell shook his head. “I only know by accident that he is here. I went to speak to the Archdeacon of St. Paul’s and was nearly swallowed up into Hugh’s party as it was coming out the gate of Montfichet. The archdeacon told me when he arrived. I asked because Hugh le Poer is no friend to Winchester. He does not like or trust the bishop, even though it was Winchester who finally persuaded Miles de Beauchamp to yield Bedford Castle so Stephen could bestow it on Hugh. Hugh believes that before he arranged the truce, Winchester made Stephen swear that if Miles yielded, he would not give the barony or the greater part of the estate to Hugh.”

“The king must have known a messenger from the pope was on his way, and if he knew, Waleran de Meulan knew. Do you think Hugh came to watch for the pope’s messenger?”

“It is possible,” Bell said, “but why? I cannot believe Waleran can feel any strong desire to strengthen Theobald, and if Waleran does not, neither would Hugh. In fact, I am sure they would prefer a weak archbishop. Theobald’s election was surely more because he was
not
Henry of Winchester than because he
was
Theobald of Bec.”

“That was how it seemed to William,” Magdalene agreed. She saw a flare of Bell’s nostrils, a tightening of his lips. Something had made him angry. Possibly just the reminder that his master had been passed over; well, he had mentioned it, not she, and he would not be angry with her over that. “And I can understand,” she continued, “that Waleran and his party would not want Winchester to be made legate, but surely delaying delivery of the bull for a few months could not be reason enough to kill a papal messenger.”

“We always come back to that sticking point,” Bell said. “Why
kill
Baldassare? I suppose what you said this morning—that he was killed because he knew his murderer—must be the answer, but—”

He stopped speaking abruptly as a door opened and a man’s shout of laughter mingled with a high female giggle. Then the door shut again and footsteps went down the corridor toward the kitchen.

“That will be Ella getting an evening meal for herself and Somer. He is spending the night and will ride back to Rochester tomorrow to bring news of Messer Baldassare’s death to William.” She hesitated, then went on. “I will tell William everything I know, but I hope you will agree that I should also tell him what we have been talking about.”

She went on, explaining why she thought it important for William of Ypres to know everything, but Bell did not hear her. He was consumed with a rage of jealousy. Whore! She had acted while they talked as if he were the only man in the world, the only man of importance to her, and all the while she was collecting information for another. Ella’s footsteps came back; her door opened and closed. His hand went to his purse.

“How much?” he asked.

Having been intent on what she was explaining—even more intent as the frown on Bell’s face darkened, because she felt she had to convince him that William of Ypres would be a valuable ally in discovering who killed Baldassare—Magdalene hadn’t the faintest idea what his question meant.

“How much what?” she asked, bewildered.

“How much to spend a night in your bed?”

Magdalene’s mouth fell open inelegantly. She was stunned. After her first suspicions that Bell would demand use of her as a bribe were put to rest, she had dismissed from her mind the problem of her trade when talking to him and concentrated on Baldassare’s death.

“That is impossible,” she said. “You cannot seek the solution to a murder of which I have been accused at the same time that you are playing games in my bed. Everyone would laugh at any solution you presented and say you were merely accusing another to cover my guilt.”

“They are saying it already,” he snapped, “and will say it no matter how pure I am, so why should I not have what I desire?”

She shook her head numbly. She had liked and trusted Bell, welcomed what seemed like a friendly alliance. She had believed he was fair and honest; instead, he was worse than the others. Mostly they made their demands at once, openly; he had offered a partnership and then used her confidence to demand she bribe him with her body to…and then she realized he had asked her price. He had not demanded her service as a bribe. He had asked her price.

Shame brought a flood of color to her face. Shame? Of what had she to be ashamed? She
was
a whore. And being a whore had brought her freedom—now that she had won her way up to a place where she could say “no” when she wished. What was wrong with her? Having a man ask her price had not wakened shame in her for nearly ten years; mostly it had amused her, since she had women to do the actual work.

“Oh, do forgive me,” she said. “How thoughtless of me to assume that you came here on the bishop’s business rather than your own.” She curved her lips into a smile. “How obtuse you must have found me, talking about the murder and William and never giving you a chance—”